Lost Boy
by ForeverMATT
Summary: Little Mello's origin is fictitious, and his behavior is out of control.


**Title: **Lost Boy

**Summary: **Little Mello's origin is fictitious, and his behavior is out of control.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN.

**Author's Note: **Well, I'm a Writey-McGee, aren't I? -I had this started a while ago, but I ended up taking it in a different direction. Here you go.

…

* * *

He had a bracelet on his wrist -not the jewelry kind. This bracelet appeared to be little more than a plastic band that had been heat-sealed around his wrist for a custom fit; it couldn't be removed unless a doctor or orderly wanted it removed, much to this child's disdain. This bracelet was special, for in it was a metal chip that tripped sensors all over the building he was forced to call home. That chip -those sensors- kept track of his every location so that busy staff members didn't have to pay attention to him all the time. And, upon approaching one door, the sensor would trigger and a heavy metal bulwark would open to let him in, and upon him entering, it would shut and lock behind him.

He was free to roam the halls on the third floor, the first floor dining room, the lavatories on the second and third floors, and the appropriately conditioned offices that he was required to to visit for specific appointments.

Other than that, he was virtually imprisoned.

Looking at his white shirt and pants -clothes that were meant to look like a cohesive outfit, anyone could tell it was really just a one-piece jumpsuit with the shirt hem sewed over the pantline to give the illusion of something traditional; the faux shirt even had fake buttons tacked on needlessly, and the pants had a fake zip and fly that didn't even move up or down. Again, it was an illusion to make those who wear these clothes look... better, less damaged. In reality, the clothes were just a bland piece of fabric that covered a body and slightly restricted motion, made it harder to run away.

To put the white garment on, one only needed to step into it and slip their feet through the ankle-holes; shove their arms hands-first into the sleeves, and then a nurse or staff member would grab a zipper in the back and zip it all the way up in one fluent motion.

This garment was what a little blonde boy begrudgingly wore as a male nurse crossed his arms and stated in a demanding tone: "Don't you want to take your medicine and get better?"

"Go suck a tit, dirtbag!" The blonde shot back, eyes narrowed and teeth bared.

The male nurse tsked at the unfavorable behavior. "Mello, don't be like that. Just take your medicine and then go talk to the doctor. If you tell us where you've come from, we can get you home. Or, if you had problems at home, we can help..."

The blonde only growled and clenched his hands into tight little fists before hissing: "I already told you!"

And yes, the blonde boy they'd nicknamed Mello _had_ told them, but the story was hardly believable.

The boy had shown up in the Outpatient Lobby of the hospital, draped in a tattered black cloak, wearing nothing underneath. His flesh was caked in dirt and grime to the point of his ethnicity becoming unknown at first glance; his hair wasn't even decisively blonde, washed brown with mud. His legs were covered in small scratches and nicks, and his posture was hardly suitable for an evolved hominid.

However poor his appearance, when asked of his name, nature, and origin, his voice -laced with an ambiguous accent- spoke English as he responded with: "I was raised by wolves." Aside from a vague description of forestland, he said nothing about where he came from. And all he would affirm of his parents was "mom was grey with big eyes and saggy tits, and dad was black with a monster dick that would make even God jealous..."

Of course, this blonde seemingly nameless boy's story couldn't be true, but he stuck with it, paying close attention to details when it suited him, and speaking in vulgar terms that brought shock and awe to his listeners.

Doctor after doctor and authority figure after authority figure had questioned him extensively, trying to find out who he was and where he came from. They searched fruitlessly for children that had run away or gone missing, but this boy appeared to emerge from little more than thin air.

When he'd first arrived, there was the matter of cleaning him up, but he barked angrily at the idea of a bath and demanded for a lowly bitch to lick him clean. It was a struggle, but eventually they wore him down and were able to wash him up, but they'd yet to successfully give him a haircut or get him to wear any form of sock or shoe.

He walked hunched over, arms pulled close to his chest in a t-rex fashion and fingers extended as if he might need to grab or scratch at something at any given moment. The way his lean muscles rolled from his shoulders to his hips was reminiscent of what one would see in the prowl of an intensely focused Border Collie mid-herd.

And his eyes, a fierce blue unlike anything one would consider natural, were wide, narrow, and calculating.

Even the most experienced doctors were intimidated, though they hid it well and did what they could to aid the situation at hand.

The blonde boy had been there for almost two whole months, had urinated in bed almost every night, and lashed out at even the slightest provocation, constantly insisting that he was a wild creature raised by wolves, and that he hungered for the fear of others.

Finally, a specialist came in. A strange man with a posture not unlike this blonde heathen. This man's hair was black and unkempt, and he too walked with a hunch. He entered the residential area of the hospital -the place where rooms were set up to comfortably accommodate long term patients- and immediately struck a staring match with the growling and heaving blonde.

Their stares clashed, serum blue into abysmal black.

Neither said a word or moved a muscle until the blonde averted his gaze and snorted in disgust.

Then, the older man spoke, his voice low and drawn. "Mello, it has come to my attention that your point of origin is a bit abstract and you have been rudely acting out toward those who intend to help."

Mello simply scoffed before grumbling: "I hope a tick gives you lyme disease."

To this, the older man replied "If it did, at least I'd be in or near a hospital. Now, nonsense aside, I'm going to let you in on a secret." Those words caused an obvious spark of interest behind those blue eyes, and the dark haired man added "but first I'm going to wait for you to behave yourself."

Mello responded with silence and a glare, the corners of his mouth twitching in favor of appropriating a sour expression.

After several minutes of no one saying a word, the older man turned away, saying "very well. If you choose not to cooperate, we'll try again next time."

Watching the dark-haired man leave, Mello lowered his head, suddenly struck with the feeling he'd done something wrong.

Later, he begrudgingly not only accepted a bath, but asked for it as well. He slept without a hassle, forgoing the offered bed and instead curling up on the floor where he preferred to sleep.

The next morning, he got up, took medicine that was supposed to help keep him calm, denied breakfast, and... was informed that he had a visitor. He scowled at the nurse who alerted him and headed to the lobby where he'd be allowed to meet with said guest, though he had no real intent on making the visit pleasant -that is, until he saw it was once again the black haired man.

This man sparked an interest in the child like no other.

"Are you behaving yet, Mello?" He asked.

Mello hesitated before grumbling "a little."

And the dark-haired man smiled before leaning close and whispering "I am L."


End file.
